


Oh darling, will you dance with me?

by muppreg



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, schmoopy porn, spoilers for 3.14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muppreg/pseuds/muppreg
Summary: Juno and Peter dance together. Then, they, uh... don't dance, anymore.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	Oh darling, will you dance with me?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first (technically second, there's one on my sfw account) attempt at smut! Constructive criticism is appreciated!
> 
> Big thanks to [@localsupervoid](https://localsupervoid.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing this work!
> 
> I chose not to use specific language for Juno's genitals in this particular fic. I am a cis writer trying to write porn about _at least_ one trans character here, and would like to continue to write smut of these two, so let me know if that was a good choice or not! I want my work to be inclusive and respectful, and I hope that you will find it to be so :)

_“Oh, darling, will you dance with me?”_

_A pause. A hand grazing her temple. “Certainly, my love.” She curtsies with grace, her hand never straying from her partner’s side. “I would love nothing more.”_

Beside him, Juno Steel, his head resting on Peter’s shoulder, sniffles. Peter attempts to smother a smile and, unsurprisingly, fails. Juno simply has a way of drawing these sorts of sappy expressions from him, whether Peter wills it or not. He tries not to take it personally.

He glances down at where Juno rests, wiping the tears from his cheeks. His face is blessedly bare, his missing eye uncovered (Juno had learned that lesson after the tears congealed inside his eye patch during a particularly emotional family movie night). Peter likes to see Juno’s entire face, the way each millimeter moves as he thinks, as though every word of his ridiculous monologues could be expressed by each muscle.

Peter Nureyev is in love.

“Juno,” he says softly. Juno glances up at him and pouts.

“It’s beautiful,” he protests, his voice breaking on the last word. “Just because you pretend you don’t cry at movies doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”

Peter presses his lips to the crown of Juno’s head, inhaling subtly. Juno smells of soap and sweat and sun, of his favorite shampoo, of something so distinctly _Juno_ that Peter wants nothing more than to bottle it, to bring it with him whenever he goes on a mission without his dearest and most precious lady. As that technology, though it exists, is currently unavailable to him, he makes do by keeping Juno as close as possible when they are together, by inhaling subtly every time Juno walks past, hoping to catch even a hint of that perfect scent. Sometimes, before he goes to bed, he will press his face to Juno’s pillow and bathe in that sublime perfume until Juno returns from the bathroom and forces him to “Budge over, babe. You’re hogging the bed again.”

Peter kisses Juno’s head. Then he does so again, and then once more. Every moment spent not kissing Juno, he has decided, is a waste. This will possibly be true for the rest of his natural-born life; Peter can only hope that, for however long they can stay together, he will be able to remedy those kissless moments with as much ease as he can now.

The music swells as the two dapper ladies onscreen begin to dance. Their skirts flare out, tracing perfect arcs across the screen. Juno sniffles again.

“Juno,” says Peter, as a wonderfully romantic thought occurs to him, “may I have this dance?”

Juno lifts his head from Peter’s shoulder, which immediately feels very cold. “Are you serious?” he asks.

Peter inclines his head, suddenly embarrassed. “Of course,” he says. “That is, if you’d like to dance. You don’t have to say yes.”

Juno’s expression softens from intense bewilderment to mild bashfulness. “Oh,” he says. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Nureyev.”

They clamber off the bed less-than-gracefully, though Peter would hardly admit to that if pressed. He extends his arms to Juno, mirroring their postures from the Zolatovna heist only a few short months ago. It feels like it’s been a thousand years since that night. Peter fights down the urge to apologize again for his actions; they’ve been discussed a thousand times, by now, and he knows exactly what Juno will say if he dives back into his little pool of shame and embarrassment.

Juno rests one hand on his shoulder and clasps Peter’s hand with the other. They press against each other, chest to chest, and begin a slow waltz to the music blaring out behind them.

_“I have… a confession.”_

_The keening wail of a lonely violin climbs higher._

_“Yes, my darling?”_

Juno steps back in time with the music. Peter strokes his thumb lightly against the base of Juno’s thumb, tracing tiny circles into scarred skin. Juno shivers.

_“It’s something I’ve never told you before. Something I should have told you a long, long time ago.”_

_The violin dips, melancholy and bitter, before rising once more._

_“Anything, my dearest one. Anything at all. Just say what you must. I shan’t judge you for it.”_

Juno meets Peter’s gaze with an intensity and a warmth that steals the very air from Peter’s lungs. His eye is such a deep brown, black in the low light, reflecting points of light like stars in the depths of space. The world around them ceases to exist. Peter is perfectly happy with this development.

_“I love you.”_

_A pause. Then, haltingly, “Oh, Chrysanthemum.”_

_“Liliana!”_

“I love you,” Juno whispers. Peter brings his hand up from Juno’s waist to brush against his cheek, just barely dotted with stubble. The skin beneath is soft. The stubble catches slightly on Peter’s hand, leaving it tingling.

“I love you, too,” says Peter.

The music swells and they crash together, Juno’s dry lips so open, so inviting, that Peter can hardly do anything but kiss him. Juno’s cheek is soft beneath his fingertips. He brings his other hand, still clutching Juno’s, to his chest, trapping it between the two of them so that he can just barely feel the thudding of their hearts echoing between them.

Juno pulls back a half-centimeter, his breath still warm against Peter’s mouth. “Bed?” he asks, voice raspy. It takes everything in Peter to nod calmly, to not disintegrate where he stands.

Juno grabs him by the shirt collar and pulls him onto the bed. Peter ends up on top of Juno, holding himself up by his elbows, with one leg nested between Juno’s thighs. Juno’s arms wrap around Peter’s waist, strong and warm and steady. Peter digs his fingers into Juno’s hair and leans down again to kiss him, the warm glow of arousal burning bright in his belly.

Juno sighs into the kiss and digs his fingers into Peter’s sides. Peter responds by grinding his hips down against Juno, savoring the perfect friction between them. Juno lets out something between a gasp and a whine, high and needy. Peter takes it as his cue to begin kissing his way down Juno’s neck, at first light and teasing but then harder, more intense, until he’s sucking at the spot between Juno’s neck and his collarbone, leaving him panting.

“Nureyev,” he gasps, and oh, doesn’t that just leave Peter _burning_.

He doesn’t have the patience to help Juno out of his shirt. He simply beckons for Juno to slide further up the bed, which he does, grumbling about the sudden lack of contact. Peter grins at him but does not respond; Juno won’t be grumbling in a moment.

When they’re both settled, he brings himself down to Juno’s waist and runs his hands under the hem of Juno’s shirt. Juno’s stomach is warm, his skin covered in soft, downy hair that grows thicker in the space below his belly button. Peter lowers his mouth and kisses him there, mouthing along stretch marks and scars until his lips are numb. Juno grabs the headboard above him and lets out a whine as Peter wraps his hands around Juno’s thighs and runs them across his skin, lingering just behind Juno’s knees.

“Oh, _Juno_ ,” he whispers. “You’re _stunning_.”

Juno’s hips buck forward a bit at that. “ _Nureyev_ ,” he gasps again. “Please.”

Peter kisses his belly again, just above the waist. “I love you,” he whispers. Another kiss, and another “I love you,” and Juno brings one hand down to card through Peter’s hair. Peter’s heart swells with feeling, with the perfect conviction that he wants to live in this moment forever, that he wants nothing more than to love and be loved by Juno Steel. 

“Love you, too,” Juno gasps. Peter savors the way his voice forms the words, files it carefully away — not for future consideration, but for future perusal, for something to look back on when Juno's voice is too far away to reach Peter's ears.

His fingers find the elastic band of Juno’s shorts. He pulls them down slowly, carefully removing them from Juno’s legs and tossing them on the floor. Juno isn’t wearing any underwear.

“Came prepared, did you?” Peter asks, glancing up at Juno.

Juno shrugs, an imperfect imitation of nonchalance. “What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

Peter laughs, then returns to kissing Juno’s belly. His mouth wanders lower, tickled by Juno’s dark curls, and he lingers on the inside of Juno’s thigh just below his pelvis, sucking until Juno lets out such a ravished noise that Peter feels it’s hardly fair to tease him any longer.

Peter takes Juno into his mouth. Juno’s hips roll forward again, slower this time, as Peter’s mouth moves against Juno. Juno’s fingers, now tugging on Peter’s hair, spasm with pleasure.

“ _Nureyev_ ,” he groans. “Keep going. Shit, just like that.”

Peter wraps his hands around Juno’s thighs once more, feeling them flexing and straining against his arms. It leaves him a little light-headed. He sucks, and Juno lets out a muffled shout.

“I’m close,” he gasps. “ _Peter_.”

Peter smiles against Juno’s skin, then flicks his tongue _just so_ , and Juno comes with a sob.

“I love you,” he gasps. “I love you.”

Peter presses gentle kisses to the insides of Juno’s thighs, then works his way back up the bed until he’s laying beside Juno. Juno reaches over and grabs his hand, staring at Peter like he hung the stars. His hands come up to Peter’s cheeks, soft and reverential, and he pulls Peter close to kiss him so deeply that Peter feels he could drown in it.

“ _Juno_ ,” he breathes, when Juno pulls away. 

“I’m right here,” Juno says. He rests his forehead against Peter’s and closes his eyes. Peter takes the opportunity to quietly memorize every freckle, every scar, every hair, every little detail of Juno’s face. “I’m right here with you.”

“I know,” Peter mutters. “Stay with me.”

Juno kisses him. “Of course,” he says. “As long as you want me, I’m yours.”

Peter lets Juno wrap his arms around him, lets himself relax against Juno’s warmth. He feels safe here, in Juno’s embrace. He wishes he could take the moment and stretch it over every second of the rest of his life, that he would never have to leave this room, to leave this lady, ever again.

“And I, yours,” he yawns, resting his head against Juno’s shoulder and quietly shoving down every thought of debt, of betrayal, of a frightening future of loneliness. He listens to Juno’s heartbeat as it slows and lets its rhythm crowd those thoughts from his head until he drifts into dreamless sleep.

On the screen behind them, two women share a quiet kiss.


End file.
